


Fire.

by try_reset (technorat)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Character Death, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, force torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7909783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technorat/pseuds/try_reset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the destruction of Starkiller, Hux receives a punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pixelated_homo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelated_homo/gifts).



> Written as a birthday present for Seff / armiitagehux !! Hope you like it
> 
>  
> 
> Snoke Force tortures Hux (not greatly described)--this leads to Hux having intrusive thoughts and nightmares.

__

 

_Fire._

_Burning through—capturing tearing flooding through veins, setting bodies alight. From ashes to ashes._

_No time to even scream._

_A sound._

_Tearing through the flames._

_A scream?_

_Who could--?_

_Families--_

_People--_

_Who are--?_

_Dissolving._

_Bubbling off into sobs, sobs that wrack the thin frame as it bucks and shakes and seizes upon the cold floor._

_Gasping, no air—no oxygen--_

_Just who is screaming?_

_The fire has no more to consume, leaving only the void._

The world returns to Hux.

Kylo _fucking_ Ren holds him to his bandaged chest. Warmth seeps into him slowly, burning up his body once more.

Hux twists, shoves at Ren's chest. “Let go of me,” he tries to say, voice gravely. He's been screaming... for how long? He can't remember. His hands fall flat against Ren's chest, feeling smooth muscle underneath layers and layers of cloth. The stink of bacta surrounds Ren, overwhelms the General.

Ren doesn't let go.

The Knight just holds him closer, insufferably.

He never follows orders.

“Shh,” he says, looking down at Hux's pale face, brows lowering. “The punishment is over. It's over.” Ren's hand—much too big—pats clumsily at Hux's hair, trying to smooth it down.

He fails.

Snoke's hologram flickers and fades.

Blood trickles from Hux's nose, over his thin lips and down, towards his chin.

_*_

The orders are simple.

Return Ren to Snoke.

Let Ren complete his training.

All should have gone as planned. All should have proceeded smoothly.

It isn't exactly the Resistance that drops out of Hyperspace.

Extremists.

Those that were discharged from the Resistance for petty crimes and ethical differences.

“Orders, sir?” Thannison looks at him, lips pursed, brows furrowed.

He pauses, finding himself frozen.

“Shall we fire?”

The ships fly ever closer, already beginning their attack.

_But--_

_Fire._

_Burning._

_Ashes._

_Screaming._

Words cannot leave his throat.

_I-- I can't--_

“Fire at will,” Ren says, feet heavy against the ground. He had ran onto the Bridge, from wherever he tends to lurk. (Not Medical, of course. Never Medical, where he so belongs.) He leans heavily on the wall, panting.

His eyes never stray from Hux's retreating figure.

Those few moments have already taken their toll on the already suffering ship.

There are things to be done.

Ren follows him out.

Hux pauses, turns, heads into an abandoned corridor.

Ren's workings—the melted and scarred walls. Oh that blasted saber.

Hux turns on his heel, looks at Ren, vitriol written all across his face.

“General,” Ren says, tilting his head.

“Why?”

Ren pauses, features stilling. “Why what?” He blinks, thick lashes obscuring the amber of his eyes—all for a moment.

“Why did you--?”

“Fulfill my duty as your co-commander?” Ren finishes.

Hux scowls, ignoring the beginnings of a headache, throbbing in the back of his skull. “Why did you help me? What do you want out of this? I can provide you with nothin--”

“Is it so hard to believe that I wanted to provide assistance?”

Hux laughs, lips quirking up in a ghost of a smile. “Yes,” he says. “We... we're not friends, Ren. We can barely call each other allies.”

_Five years._

_They had known each other for five years._

_And hatred had remained between them._

Ren lowers his head, frowning. He crosses his arms over his chest. “We don't have to fight,” he says. “Hux.” He reaches out.

Hux steps out of his range, back pressing against the gashes on the wall.

Ren drops his hand. “I'd like for you to trust me,” he says.

“Trust has to be earned.”

_*_

_He doesn't sleep._

_Can't sleep._

He stares at the ceiling and rolls over, curling onto his side.

_Outside, the stars blur together._

_How long until he must face Sn--_ the Supreme Leader _again?_

_How long until repairs are complete?_

_How long does he have left?_

_And Ren's dark eyes lingered over skin and bones and walls in need of repairs._

_“I'd like for you to trust me.”_

Hux turns over once again, onto his back.

_Trust._

_Ren, his only hope._

_Laughable._

_*_

Ren starts to seek him out.

He's a shadow that lurks on the edges of Hux's vision.

Always watching.

Waiting for Hux to fail, despite earlier assurances that no, their rivalry does not need to continue and to trust in him.

_But Hux cannot put faith in one so unpredictable, so unreliable._

_Hux will fall._

_Fail._

_Once again._

He'd report that to that master of his, Hux snorts, blinking rapidly, turning back to his underlings, turning back to the datapads and the countless work at keeps the ship running—should keep the ship running.

“Report,” he says, voice soft, quiet. His throat, still so sore.

_He wouldn't have to do this--_

_His visions--_

_So much death--_

_When will--_

“Repairs are still underway, sir,” says the frightened lieutenant, eyes shifting away from Hux's, towards the towering, injury-laden, knight that looms oh so close. “At this rate, we will arrive at our destination in one standard week.” And then the lieutenant pales, eyes growing large as Kylo Ren makes his way to them, booted feet too loud against durasteel.

Hux restrains himself, stopping himself from sighing.

What now?

“General,” Ren says, lips pressed together with distaste. “You shouldn't be here.”

Hux turns, ever slightly, ignoring the way his crew hunkers down in their seats, unready for violence to occur. “I am exactly where I am needed on my ship.”

Ren steps closer, looks down at him, thick and tangled hair falling from his shoulders. The bacta patch on his face peels at its corners. “You should be in your quarters. Recovering.”

He blinks, raising both brows in disbelief. “I'm... the one that should be recovering?” Hux jabs Ren's shoulder, right in the center of a bandage.

Ren grimaces, flinching away from the overworked General.

“Really Ren, you should take a look at yourself,” Hux says, letting out a soft breath.

Hux walks off, to his office, shoes clicking against the floor. He fights back a shudder.

_He cannot be so weak._

_Cannot let those Force-wielding maniacs get the best of him._

_*_

During his allotted sleep cycle, the punishment comes back to haunt him once again.

_Burning._

_Fire, spreading through his being._

_Red._

_Red, painting the starry sky._

_The end of the Republic._

_The end of a regime that acquiesces disorder._

_He acquiesces disorder._

_Lets it breed and grow on the very flagship he resides._

He breathes, one breath in, one breath out, and turns over in bed, pulling the sheets closer, curling up, making himself smaller.

_Weak-willed._

_Thin._

_Useless._

_But his potential--_

_A fierce machine._

_The End of a Republic._

_Terror._

_Snoke's scarred face looms above him._

He gasps, sitting up, clawing at the flesh of his palms, his heart pumping pumping pumping. He doesn't notice blood drip from his nose, until it's already stained the stark whiteness of the blanket.

The sheet slides down his thin chest and pools around his waist. All hope of catching up on much needed sleep disappears.

He twists, pulling a datapad onto his lap.

Work.

He sets his mind to work.

There are better things to do.

_*_

“Hux,” Ren says, getting too close, forcing himself too close to the General.

He's ignored. Hux brushes past him, sweeping into his office without a word.

Surely, the staff on the Bridge notices their animosity. Sure, the staff of the Bridge notices just how exhaustion has claimed them both, leaving the Knight wild-eyed and drooping and the General gaunt and pale.

Ren follows him.

The door slides shut behind him without being prompted.

Another magic trick, no doubt, Hux thinks, resenting it.

Resenting the Force.

He shivers.

He seats himself in his chair, ignoring as his skull throbs; something seated behind his eyes is in pain. A stack of datapads wait for him.

Reports.

Of spendings, of earnings.

Of that typical Ren-crafted chaos.

He's the one to balance them all.

The one who is Ren's equal.

_The one who should not be so weak, so foolish, so--_

“Hux, stop,” his co-commander says.

He ignores Ren, continues typing, not even thinking.

Work.

He has work to do.

_Why can't Ren see?_

“Hux,” Ren tries again, face contorting strangely.

For how Hux prides himself on his ability to read others—including the previously masked and cowled Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren—he doesn't understand the look at reaches Ren's eyes.

“We need to talk,” the Force-user says, nearly desperate.

Hux continues typing, the projected light making his eyes water. “What is there to talk about, Ren?” he asks.

“What my Master did.”

Hux stiffens, fingers freezing where they last lay. The typing ceases.

Breathe in, breathe out.

His fingers move once more.

“There is nothing to talk about,” Hux says.

“The punishment was excessive,” Ren continues. “To have a non-Force sensitive individual experience the pain Starkiller brought, first-hand--”

Hux shakes his head. “Stop,” he says, voice breaking.

_Fire._

_Lighting up the skin of his arms._

_Running across nearly translucent hairs._

_Fire._

_Burning through._

_Ashes._

_Ashes to ashes._

_We all fall down._

_The Republic has fallen._

Breathe in, breathe out.

Ren looks at him oddly, brows furrowing, tilting his head. He looks at him expectantly, like a hound, waiting for the orders of its master.

_His master._

Hux shudders again, stomach churning unpleasantly.

“Don't be afraid. I feel it too.” The words do not provide the comfort Kylo surely thought they would.

Instead, another wave of anxiety rolls through Hux's frame.

He stills, becoming rigid.

“You feel nothing,” Hux snaps at him, pulling away. He spins in his chair, away from the bigger man, and stands, much too quickly. His head becomes light, knees weak.

“You're being torn apart,” Ren continues, gingerly stepping closer. He isn't wearing gloves. His hands are calloused and warm, nails cut too short. He reaches out, offering Hux a hand.

“What do you know?” Hux snaps, face twisting bitterly, sourness spreading across his tongue.

Ren frowns, drops his hand.

“I know,” he tries.

Hux shakes his head, eyes painfully dry. “You know nothing.”

He snarls, stepping closer, shoving at Hux, pushing and pushing, until he falls, ass first, back into his chair. And then he doesn't move, towering over him, leaning ever close. “You should understand,” Ren says, “I can take whatever I want.”

_Don't--_

_Don't--_

_No no no no no no no oh no--_

_Don't come closer--_

Hux pales, grips at the arms of the chair, going stiff.

Ren backs up, the fury leaving his face. He looks away, lips pursed.

He breathes in, breathes out, turns back on Hux, determination in his eyes wavering.

“Sorry,” Ren says.

Hux snorts.

When had he grown fearful of Kylo fucking Ren?

“You need your rest,” Ren tries, softer this time. He hesitates, then reaches out, putting his hand next to Hux's temple. His dark eyes lock on Hux's own.

“What are you doing?” Hux asks.

“You haven't been sleeping,” he says, brushing an unruly strand of Hux's hair back. “I can help you.”

“Why? What do you want from me?”

Ren looks at him, brows furrowing. He looks insulted.

_Good._

“What do you mean?” Ren asks. “Do you mean that I can't do something nice for my fellow co-commander?”

“Hmm... sounds entirely unlike you,” Hux says, bringing a hand to tap thoughtfully at his bottom lip. “Who are you and what have you done with Lord Ren?”

Ren whines, sounding like a child.

He is a child.

An overgrown one.

“Hux. I can help, I swear it. I can help you have the quick and dreamless sleep you desire,” he says, spreading out his hands. He looks miserable, bloodshot and tired. His hair clings to his head, flat. “I told you. I want you to trust in me.”

“How?”

“We'll use the Force.”

Hux snorts again, laughing mirthlessly. “More Force trickery?”

“You know it's not a trick.”

The General sighs, only shaking his head. His body feels so very heavy, head and shoulders aching.

He has nothing else to lose.

He stands and walks, Ren following close behind.

He may as well give Ren this chance.

_Perhaps,_ he thinks, so casually _, he will not survive the night._

_*_

The General's room is nothing special.

The same, bland walls as any other officer.

The same standard bed, same standard sheets.

A private refresher and a small conservator are the only things that seem misplaced.

Hux pulls off his gloves and then his coat, hanging up the greatcoat, placing the balled up gloves into the pockets.

He sits down wearily onto the edge of his bed and reaches underneath, finding his bootjack.

Ren only watches.

Hux looks up, hair falling free from the gel. “Well?” he sneers, free from his shoes. He wriggles his toes against the cool ground. “Make yourself comfortable. I need to take a sonic.”

Ren moves slowly to the bed, sitting beside Hux. The bed dips underneath his weight. He leans forwards, pulling off his shoes and letting them fall onto the ground.

“Very well,” Hux says, already moving away, finding First Order standard issue pajamas.

If Ren finds his heavy robes comfortable.

_*_

They fall into schedule.

At the end of every cycle, once Hux has collected himself and his datapad, Ren sweeps out from the shadows and escorts him back.

Sometimes, the General eats—Ren's dark eyes watching the bobbing of his throat.

Other times he does not.

_Fire._

_Burning._

_Skin._

_Peeling away from bones._

He swallows down a glass of water, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” Hux asks, snarling at Ren's concerned look.

Ren shakes his head.

A touch to Hux's temples is all that's needed to help the General sleep.

But Ren stays, even after.

Watching the thin chest rise and fall, steadily.

Hux's hands fall open when he sleeps, relaxed.

Ren reaches out, turns one over, and stares at four half crescent scars.

_*_

“You need to eat,” Ren says, falling into place beside Hux.

“Later,” Hux dismisses, continuing towards the center of the Bridge.

There are lieutenants and majors and petty officers and so many people to see.

So many reports to go over.

So many training sessions to check in on.

So few hours in the cycle.

_So much fire burning through, eating, eating, eating—never full._

Ren looks at him, mournful. He bites at his lower lip, chapped skin peeling. When had his full and plush lips grown so cracked?

_*_

“Sir?” Phasma asks. Her helmet rest against the table. She's paused, spoonful of protein-paste halfway to her mouth.

“What is it?” he asks, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

The headache just wouldn't abate.

“Have you been eating?”

He forces a spoonful of the tasteless monstrosity that is protein-paste down his throat and fights back a gag. His eyes water. “Yes,” Hux says, voice hoarse.

Phasma frowns at him.

Then, leaning closer, she brings her voice to a whisper.

“The men are loyal to you, General,” Phasma says, eyes moving to the side, glancing at Ren's curious figure—lurking in a corner of the room. “I'm sure Lord Ren is too.”

“How treacherous,” Hux says lightly, ignoring how his heart races.

_Ignoring the fire._

_Ignoring the burning._

_Ignoring the End, the Void, the Fire._

She sits back, unruffled, and shrugs. “I only speak the truth.”

_*_

Ren reaches out, cups Hux's cheek. His thumb strokes Hux's cheek, feeling a day's worth of stubble, pale skin, and the bones underneath.

Hux narrows his eyes, as Ren looks for something within them.

He leans closer.

“What is it?”

So close.

Almost as if he will--

Ren pulls away.

_Fire._

_Feeding._

_The destruction of an entire system._

_Such a waste of life._

_How could_ he _?_

_*_

“Hux?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think--?”

“What is it Ren?” he sighs.

A great effort.

“...nevermind.”

Hux breathes in, breathes out, presses his fingers to his forehead. “Ren, I am not a mind-reader,” he says. Unlike some people...

“I know.”  
The Knights sits awkwardly in a corner of Hux's office, knees tucked to his chest, chin resting on one. His bare arms wrap around his legs, hold them closer. He pouts. Day by day, he becomes more of a child.

Hair hands in front of his eyes, sticking to the raw redness of his facial scar.

Hux twists in his chair, facing away from his datapad.

_His skin burns where it touches his clothing, raw, irrationally, all over._

_Fire._

_Ever burning._

_Feeding, feeding, feeding._

_All that will be left is the Void._

_Useless._

_How could they have a General who could not give orders to--?_

“You're thinking,” Ren says.

Hux rolls his eyes. “Why, yes. The mind-reading skills of the ever great Master of the Knights of Ren have only improved.”

Ren frowns, ignoring the outburst. “You're thinking. Loudly.”

Hux opens his mouth to speak--

Ren holds out his gloved hand. “No. I'm not reading your mind. I can control myself.”

“And where was that control when you slashed up _my_ ship?”

Ren's face sours. “It's _our_ ship.”

He looks away.

“I can control myself,” Ren says again. Flat. He reaches out, snatching Hux's ungloved, clammy hand. Ren turns it over, staring at the mangled flesh of Hux's palm. He closes Hux's fist, taking care. “I won't let him hurt you. Not again.”

Hux pulls away, ignoring pleasant lingering warmth. “You'll betray your master for such a weak General?” he laughs.

_A trap, his mind warns._

_And fire._

_Fire everlasting._

_Heat feasting on flesh._

_The Void._

_Simple truths._

_The Void yawns before him._

“Stop that,” Ren chastises.

He kneels before Hux, taking his hand again.

“Haven't you always wanted to be emper--?”

Hux shushes him, widened eyes glancing about the room. “Stop,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. His heart beats faster, faster, faster.

_The fire fills the sky._

_It doesn't rain down._

_It strikes the core of the very earth below him._

_There is no time left to scream._

Ren scrambles to his feet, scowling. “Fine,” he hisses, cowl billowing behind him. “Be that way.”

_The End._

_The end of a regime._

_*_

The repairs are finished within their given timeframe.

And the Finalizer truly begins to move.

*

“General,” Phasma greets, stepping to his side. She keeps up with his fast pace. Her eyes—hidden behind the chrome of her helmet—trail the plains of his face.

He's grown thinner—thinner than before, skin so pale it might as well be translucent.

“Captain,” he greets.

“The Supreme Leader's planet is steadily approaching. We will be there within the next two cycles,” she says, slowly.

“Why are you the one to inform me?”

Phasma pauses, pace broken for the moment. “...what are your orders?”

He blinks.

“Remember what I said? I spoke to Lord Ren himself.” She stares at him, something akin to pity. Something akin to familiarity.

He doesn't know if he likes it.

Now it is the General's turn to take a pause.

“Lord Ren has something planned,” she says. “Risky.”

He sighs, turning to enter a conference room—somewhere he knows he cannot be overheard. “Well?” he asks, lifting his eyes. “Let me hear it.”

_*_

Supreme Leader Snoke is dead.

Body left to rot, on some moon, half a galaxy away.

Leia falls back into her chair, clutching at her heart.

She turns, peers at her brother and his two students.

This war is not over yet.

_All hail Emperor Hux._

_*_

_Fire._

_Burning through._

_The End._

_Of a regime._

 

 

 

 


End file.
